Beware!
by The Phantom
Summary: Movieverse. A story about the Aunt May Conspiracy! *COMPLETE with EPILOGUE!* Ever notice how she's ALWAYS offering him something to eat? Here's my explanation... Please R&R! :)
1. It Starts...

Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any of the characters.

Author's Notes: This fic is based on an idea from my twin sister, TK. This is all her idea; I simply made it into a story. Thanks TK! Please review. And remember, don't take this seriously… or should you? :)

"You're just in time for dinner!"

"Sure you won't have a bite?"

"Meatloaf's in the oven!"

"Don't you want some breakfast?"

"Can I fix you something?"

…

Beware! 

            The fall wind raced down the street, jostling leaves and people as it went. It darted in, out, and around, circling the helpless people who just wanted to go home. 

            Peter Parker was one of them. He was on his way home from his latest job, stopping in to see Aunt May before going back to the penthouse he shared with Harry Osborn. He moved quickly down the street, gracefully, with the ease of a spider. But he was tired. Being Spider-Man, trying to keep a job, and everything else was very wearing. He would be glad to see his beloved aunt and take a load off his feet, resting for a while…

            He jogged effortlessly up the front walk, jumped up the steps, and rapped on the door. It took a moment, but then the door opened and Aunt May stood there.

            "Peter!" She exclaimed happily. "What a pleasant surprise! Please, come in!"

            "Hi Aunt May!" he greeted, giving her a hug.

            And then he moved past her, into the house, carefully setting down his bag on a chair. It contained his camera, a few books, and his Spider-Man mask, boots, and gloves. He didn't want to lose that.

            Walking over to the kitchen table, he sat down in one of the chairs and heaved a sigh of relief. Home again, home again. Jiggity jig. 

            "Can I fix you something?" Aunt May asked, moving towards the cupboards.

            "No, no thanks, Aunt May." He sighed. "I'm not very hungry."

            Picking up the latest edition of the paper, Peter flipped through it casually, scanning the headlines halfheartedly. He absently cocked his head, listening to the familiar sounds of the old neighborhood.

            Everything seemed perfectly ordinary, until…

            "So, Peter, would you like something to eat?" Aunt May inquired from her position by the stove.

            Glancing up from the paper, Peter laughed.

            "Aunt May! You just asked me that like, two minutes ago."

            She stared at him, blinking owlishly. Then she cooed in recognition.

            "Ooh, yes."

            Grinning brightly, she returned to her cooking work. With a shrug, Peter looked back to the paper…

            ~

            At six o'clock, after lounging around and chatting with his aunt for a few hours, Peter decided it was time to get back to he and Harry's penthouse. He rose from his seat.

            "Well, thanks for having me, Aunt May, but I'd better be going…" 

            As he walked over to grab his bag, she got up too.

            "Leaving already? Don't you want some dinner?"

            "Don't worry Aunt May, I'll grab a bite back at my place."

            "Yes. Good."

            Peter paused at her response. It sounded a bit odd…

            "Goodnight, Peter!" she said sweetly. 

            He nodded, walking out the door.

            "Don't forget your dinner!" her voice drifted after him

            "Um, okay…"

            ~

            Bounding up the stairs effortlessly, Peter looked forward to crashing into his bed. He always preferred the stairs to the elevator; they were better for the body. He'd saved three people in a car accident on the way home, and saving lives always boosted his spirits.

            "Hey Harry!" he called, swinging open the door.

            Harry was perched on an armchair, his nose buried in a book. But he looked up when he heard his roommate come in.

            "Oh, hey Peter."

            He returned to his book, studying it intently. Peter walked over, glancing at the cover. It read, 'The Collected Works of William Shakespeare: Volume III'. 

            "Ouch," Peter said sympathetically.

            "Yeah, well, that's life…" Harry muttered. 

            Reassured that Harry hadn't turned into a bookworm overnight, Peter went over to the fridge and got out a thing of yogurt. He slurped it down quickly, tossing the empty container into the garbage can.

            "I'm going up to bed," he announced.

            "Already?" his roommate asked, disbelief in his voice.

            "Yeah, well… I'm tired."

            "Oh. Okay."

            ~

            Saturday. That blissful day when you can sleep in until your heart's content. 

            It was nine-thirty when Peter finally cracked his eyes open and stared at the clock. Grumbling, he rolled out of bed and onto the floor. To wake himself up, he did twenty rapid sit-ups.

            "Ah…"

            Much better. Springing to his feet, he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower…

            ~

            Downstairs, Harry was just guzzling some milk out of the container when someone knocked on the door. Spewing the milk back into its' receptacle (Pete wouldn't mind), he jogged over to the door and peeped through the spy hole.

            "Aunt May?"

            He opened the door. There she was, holding a grocery bag.

            "Hello Harry," she said warmly.

            "Aunt May?" he repeated, dumbly.

            "Oh, yes, well, surprise!" she laughed. "I figured you boys could use a decent meal cooked for you once in a while, so I brought some things over. Do you mind?"

            Harry's mind filled with images of her delicious casseroles, and ravioli, and salads, and all the other wonderful things he'd ever sampled of her cooking.

            "No, not at all! Come on in!"

            ~

            Mary Jane had at first been a surprised when she'd gotten Harry's call. Sure, they'd been seeing each other casually for a while, but she hadn't expected him to invite her over to he and Peter's flat.

            "Come on," he'd said. "Aunt May came over to cook for us."

            And who could resist Aunt May's cooking? So here she was, standing outside the door, and knocking.

            "Hey MJ!" Harry said enthusiastically, letting her in. 

            "Ah, Mary Jane!" Aunt May greeted, busily working in the little kitchen. 

            MJ laughed and looked around the penthouse. 

            "Wow, nice place, Harry." 

            "Thanks…"

            Suddenly, he glanced down at himself, as if just realizing that he was wearing flannel pants and an old tee shirt. 

            "Um, I'm gonna go change…"

            And he sprinted up the stairs.

            MJ wandered into the kitchen, offering to help with the cooking. She and Aunt May were just striking up a conversation, when someone came running down the stairs…

            Peter, wearing nothing but a pair of blue jeans, stopped dead in his tracks.

            "Aunt May? MJ…"

            He stood there for a moment, as if deciding what to do. MJ accepted the opportunity, hungrily drinking in the details of his muscular, shirtless form. 

            "Sorry, ladies, I'll just be a minute…"

            He scurried into the little laundry room, emerging seconds later with a shirt in his hands. Going back up the stairs, he called over his shoulder,

            "I'll be right down!"

            Still staring at the point where he'd vanished, MJ heard Aunt May sigh in a disappointed tone.

            "That boy doesn't eat nearly enough… he's far too skinny…" 

            MJ turned to look slowly at her, imagining Peter's perfectly ripped body and seeing no flaws.

            "Aunt May… he's like the most fit guy I know."

            But the elderly woman just shook her head…

            ~

            Over lunch, both MJ and Harry were surprised by how much Aunt May was encouraging Peter to eat.

            "Oh, come now, you've hardly touched your food!" she'd chide, when Peter had all but cleaned his plate. 

            So after lunch, when Aunt May left, it was hardly a surprise when Peter dropped onto the couch with a groan. Harry walked over and plopped into the armchair, while MJ perched on the other end of the sofa.

            "I can't move my body…" Peter moaned.

            "Poor baby." Harry smirked.

            Rolling over, Peter managed to glare at him.

            "Oh, ha, ha, ha. Ugh! What's she trying to do? Stuff me?"

            "Well," MJ offered. "She said to me that she thinks you're too thin…"

            Harry snorted, and Peter groaned again.

            "Too thin? What does she want me to be? Fat?"

            MJ shrugged.

            "That's just what she said to me…"

            Glancing at her watch, she gasped in horror.

            "Sorry guys, I gotta go! Lunch was great! Bye!"

            And she grabbed her purse, dashing out the door.

            The boys just sat in silence, with Peter trying to digest the enormous amount of chow he'd just consumed.

            ~

            Everything should have been ordinary after that. But with Peter, nothing could be that easy…

            Aunt May started calling him, asking him if he was eating all his meals. She insisted she was just checking up on him, but it was spooking him out all the same. He'd listen to her upset lectures when he missed breakfast, and the constant reminders to eat a filling dinner.

            "This is so weird!" Peter exclaimed, slamming the phone down onto its' hook.

            He was in the penthouse, having just walked in the door to a phone call… Again.

            "What's weird?" Harry asked, mildly intrigued.

              "Aunt May!" Peter said, exasperated. "All she does is call me and see if I'm eating properly!"

            "So she's concerned." Harry said casually. "So?"

            "Not just concerned! It's like she wants me to gain weight or something…"

            "Hey," Harry joked. "Maybe she's a cannibal, and she's fattening you up to eat you!"

            There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

            "Ha, ha, ha." Peter said at last. "Very funny."

            ~

            Dropping in to visit Aunt May the next week, Peter was hardly surprised when she greeted him with,

            "Can I fix you something?"

            "No thanks, Aunt May." He said easily. 

            "Are you sure?" she persisted.

            "Yes! I'm not hungry…"

            As he went up the stairs to his old room, intent on retrieving something, he heard her saying,

            "Oh dear. This won't do. Thanksgiving is so close…  Not nearly plump enough…"

            He turned to look at her, slowly, deliberately.    

            "Plump enough for what?" 

            She spun around, looking surprised that he'd heard her. After an awkward moment, her face lit up with a fake grin.

            "Nothing, darling!" she said in a sugary voice.

            Nodding slowly, Peter continued up the stairs.

            After he'd left, he didn't see the murderous look that crossed his beloved Aunt May's face…

            ~

            Motherly old lady? Or psychotic cannibal? You decide.

            **            I SUPPORT THE AUNT MAY CONSPIRACY!**


	2. It Continues...

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Marvel characters.

Author's Notes: Chapter two, by popular demand! This fic was supposed to be a one-shot, but everyone asked for a sequel, and well… the masses have spoken, and I have complied. On we go… 

Special thanks to TK for all her ideas! Support the Aunt May Conspiracy!

Beware! – The Horror Continues… 

            "Argh!"

            Harry Osborn looked up from his studies, mildly intrigued. He'd gotten used to these sounds of frustration from his roommate, even more so in the past two weeks.

            Two weeks. Had it really been two weeks since the funeral of Norman Osborn? So much had changed… he still roomed with Peter, but now he, Harry, was very rich. His father's will had been very generous. Peter, too, had inherited a large sum of money. But he'd given it all to his beloved Aunt May…

            "You okay, Pete?" he asked casually.

            Peter Parker turned and looked at him, his appearance altogether frazzled. With a sigh, he tossed his bag on the floor and flopped onto the couch.

            "I'm fine, Harry…"

            What was he supposed to say? 'Oh, I just stopped a bank robbery and rescued three kids from a car crash, and my aunt has been acting weirder than ever'? He opted to speak the last sentiment.

            "Aunt May's been acting really weird lately."

            Harry suppressed the snort of laughter. 'Lately'? That was a laugh. That woman had been acting strange for weeks now… calling Peter routinely and insisting that he eat, and even coming over to the penthouse and cooking the occasional meal for them. 'Lately'…

            "Oh really?" he asked, pretending to be interested. 

            But Peter caught the sarcastic tone.

            "I'm serious!" he cried. "Look!"

            And he dug into his bag, shoving something into Harry's hands.

            "Meatloaf?" the young Osborn said questioningly.

            "She made me take it home." Peter explained. 

            "Ahh…"

            "I swear, it's weird! All she talked about was how terrible my diet was…"

            Harry shrugged. 

            "Maybe it's a phase…"

            When Peter gave him 'The Look', he laughed. 

            "I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Look, Pete, she's probably just concerned about you."

            "Yeah…"

            ~

            Ring, ring.

            Jolting awake, Peter swiped at the air blindly. 

            "Ack! Huh?"

            He looked around, confused.

            Ring, ring.  

            He traced the sound to the phone sitting next to his bed. Heaving a sigh, he fumbled for it in the dark, finally bringing it to his ear.

            "Hello?" 

            He didn't try to keep the grogginess out of his voice. What time was it, anyway…?

            "Peter!"

            He almost fell out of bed.

            "Aunt May?!?" 

            "Hello, dear!"

            He glanced at the clock. 

            "Aunt May, it's three o'clock in the morning! Why are you calling?"

            "I just wanted to remind you to eat a filling breakfast. Breakfast can be the most important meal of the day, you know…"

            Then he did fall out of bed. He wanted to scream into the phone, or laugh, of something. This had to be a dream… that's it, he was dreaming.

            "Okay, Aunt May."

            And then he hung up, crawling into bed and falling asleep again…

            ~

            He never would have remembered the strange occurrence, but he was reminded abruptly.

            "Phone for you, Pete."

            And Harry handed it to him, mouthing the name 'Aunt May'.

            "Aunt May?" Peter said slowly, unsure.

            "Just wanted to make sure you remembered."

            "Remembered… what…?"

            "Why, to eat a filling breakfast! Don't you remember my call?"

            His head was spinning… No, that was his spider sense. Why was his spider sense tingling during a phone conversation with his Aunt May?

            "Yeah… okay…"

            And forgetting all the manners she'd instilled in him since his youth, he hung up on her. Dropping the phone on the counter, he leaned against the wall.

            "Pete? What's the matter?"

            "I… I'm just tired, Harry…"

            Yes, that was partially true. But that wasn't the half of it…

            "What did she want?"

            Peter turned slowly to look at his roommate. 

            "She wanted to remind me to eat a filling breakfast."

            And Harry Osborn burst out laughing. Milk from the cereal he was eating sprayed from his nose, and he fell right off his stool.

            "I'm serious, Harry!" Peter said loudly, to be heard over the din. "This is creepy! She called me last night at three a.m.!" 

            Of course, this only made Harry laugh harder. He thought he was going to split a gut.

            "Harry!"

            Peter's sharp command quickly clamped down on his merriment. He managed to catch his breath and sat up.

            "Geez, sorry, man." 

            A heavy sigh emanated from the other boy.

            "It's all right, Harry… it's just… it's creepy!"

            "Yeah, I know. Look, she'll snap out of it soon. Aunts always do."

            ~

            She didn't snap out of it.

            It got progressively worse. More early morning calls, and constant reminders to eat, eat, eat. It was as if she wanted Peter to gain weight… It was making him edgy, to say the least. 

            His life was just chaos right now. First of all, and most importantly, he was Spider-Man. Saving lives 24/7 was bound to take it out of a guy. And then, he was trying to be nice to MJ, without letting her too close. It was hard enough to get her out of his mind already, without having to see her all the time.

            Finally, and most annoying and mysteriously, was Aunt May. What was wrong with her?

            It wasn't until three weeks later that things got even spookier…

            ~

            "Ah… another laaaaaaaaaazy Saturday…"

            Harry stretched out the word, loving the sound of it on his tongue. Lazy… how he loved that word. Norman Osborn would have rolled over in his grave. 

            "Sorry Dad," Harry said quickly, looking upwards.

            But he couldn't help it. Flopping over so that he was on his back, he nestled his head back into the armrest of the couch. A knock on the door disturbed his thoughts.

            He tried to get up and rolled off the couch.

            "Oof…"

            Struggling to his feet, he hurried over to the door. 

            "Coming! Coming!"

            Peering through the spy hole, he blinked in surprise. Nobody was there… Opening the door, he was about to march out into the hallway. He almost tripped over the payload waiting there…

            "What the…?"

            It was a pile of four Tupperware containers. A note on top of them read,

            'Peter darling,

            Some breakfast for you!

- Aunt May'

A snort of laughter burst from Harry, which made his nose hurt. He rubbed it 

tenderly for a moment, then, with a smirk, he carried the containers into the house.

            "Yo, Pete!" he called, banging on his roommate's door. 

            A few moments later the blue-eyed youth came stumbling out.

            "Wha? What is it?"

            "Breakfast is served."

            "What?!?"

            ~

            "What do you mean 'It's nothing'?"

            Peter Parker was very stressed. Not only was everything chaotic right now; it was getting even worse.

            He turned his frazzled gaze to his roommate.

            Harry was sitting there, trying desperately to keep his laughter in. But he wasn't succeeding…

            "I'm serious!" Peter moaned. "This is SO weird! Now she's leaving food at my door? Something's the matter, Harry…"

            The young Osborn stood from his seat, walking over to put his hand's on Peter's shoulders.

            "Pete, Pete…" he said soothingly. "Look, if it bothers you so much, I'll look into it…"

            "No, it's o-"

            Suddenly, the phone rang. Both boys' heads twisted to look at it. Peter walked slowly over to it, finally reaching his hand out as if he was about to grab a snake. And with that same urgent fear, he yanked it off the hook and pressed it to his ear.

            "Hello?"

            Harry watched patiently, trying not to eavesdrop, but unable to help himself… 

            When Peter finally hung up with a sigh, Harry was looking at him intently.

            "Aunt May…" the science whiz explained wearily. "Wants me to go out to lunch with her." He glared at Harry when he smirked, then continued. "So anyway, that's where I'll be… all afternoon."

            In a few minutes, Peter was dressed and out the door. When he was sure he was gone, Harry sprang into his own room, getting dressed quickly. Moving over to the counter, he snatched his car keys.

            "Time to pay a little visit to Aunt May's humble abode… while she's out…"

            And he went out the door, locking it behind him, and down the stairs…

            It was time to figure out what the hell was going on…

            ~ To Be Continued…  


	3. A Startling Discovery...

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters.

Author's Notes: I'm back! Yes, after an unfair wait for all of you, chapter three is here! It was capfaced who pointed it out to me… if I didn't post soon, you'd all eat me! So, here the drama continues… please note that the genre has been changed to 'humor/horror', as now, things get a bit… just read and find out! :)

Dedicated to Bumblebee-Queen. Your review made my day! Really, I was honored to get such a compliment. 

"Blah." = Talking. 

-Blah.- = Thought

Beware! – The Horror STILL Continues

            To the passersby, the car idling by the curbside seemed perfectly ordinary. It sat there, the driver behind the wheel, nothing special. If only they had a spider sense…

            Peter could feel it. He could feel his own fear and nervousness rolling off and into the air around him. He didn't know why. Why was he so worried about having lunch with Aunt May? For crying out loud, she'd raised him since he was four…

            -What's wrong with me?- He asked himself in frustration. 

            With a slow hand, he reached up and turned off the car. And then, he opened the door.

            And sat there.

            Finally, taking a breath of air to boost his own courage, he got out of the car, shut the door and moved towards the café. And against his screaming spider sense, he went in…

            ~

            Meanwhile, on the other side of town, a car was pulling up into the driveway of the house belonging to May Parker.

            Harry stepped out cautiously, his eyes darting around. Even as he walked up the front steps, he was asking himself what he was doing here.

            -Simple.- he said to himself. –You're here to help Peter figure out this problem.-

            He reached the front door. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at it. And then he grabbed the handle, opening the door.

            Locked.

            He looked at it curiously for a moment, before smacking his forehead. Of course it was locked! She was downtown! Mumbling curses to himself, he walked around to the back.

            At the back door, there was a key under the mat. Harry felt like some kind of traitor as he retrieved it, after all the years of promising Aunt May he would never misuse it.

            Once in the house, however, those guilty feelings vanished. They were overwhelmed by the sense of panic. He had the insane thought that Aunt May would spring out from behind a doorway and demand to know why he was in her house. 

            Wandering down the hall, he entered the kitchen…

            ~

            Plastering a fake smile on his face, Peter greeted Aunt May. 

            "Hey Aunt May!" he said brightly, lathering on an enthusiasm he didn't feel.

            "Peter!" she responded, hugging him.

            It was the oddest thing, but he could have sworn he felt her pinch his ribs…

            Pulling out of the embrace, she gave him a huge grin.

            "I've already got us a table," she explained. "Now let's go sit down."

            Once they were seated, Peter casually picked up a menu.

            "Oh, don't worry, darling, I've already ordered for you." Aunt May informed him.

            "Oh… okay…"

            ~

            Moving over to the counter, Harry spotted a few cookbooks lying about. Picking one up, he flipped through it. He came to a recipe for grilled chicken breasts, and spotted a note in Aunt May's familiar handwriting. Penned in neatly beside the ingredients was the reminder,

- Works well with ribs.

            Harry found this very odd, as the recipe didn't apply to ribs at all. Shrugging, he continued flipping through. At a recipe for pork chops, he found the message,

- Excellent for fingers.

Slamming the book shut with a yelp, Harry threw it back down onto the counter.  

But after a moment, he began to reasons with himself.

            -She probably meant chicken fingers… or something…-

            Having found nothing interesting in the kitchen, Harry moved up the stairs…

            ~

            Peter Parker had never seen a larger sandwich in his life.

            That is, if you could call it a sandwich. It looked more to Peter like an explosion. Lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, roast beef, turkey, ham, everything, all piled between two enormous pieces of bread that could have each been a loaf by themselves. Peter was flabbergasted.

            "Aunt May, what IS this?"

            She looked up from her little salad.

            "It's a sandwich." She said incredulously, as if she couldn't understand that Peter was asking that.

            "Yes, I know it's a sandwich." Peter agreed. "But… what is it?"

            "It's the super-sized special of the day."

            "It's huge!"

            "Well, yes, you are a growing boy!"

            And she returned to picking at her salad as if nothing had happened. Picking up a knife and fork, Peter began a valiant attack on the sandwich of Goliath proportions.

            ~

            Moving down the upper hall, Harry tried to be as quiet as possible. Which he realized was ridiculous, seeing as no one was home, nor would be for a few hours. 

            Nonetheless, he felt like a very important spy on a top-secret mission.

            Easing quietly into Aunt May's room, his eyes searched every possible surface and crevice for anything suspicious. Nothing. Then, he spotted it.

            A small, lavender book sat innocently on her nightstand.

            A journal.

            Tiptoeing over and feeling oh-so-naughty, he snatched the book and cracked it open, flipping to a random page. He read,__

_            Dear Journal,_

_It appears as if Peter has been resisting my meals. If he keeps this stubbornness up much longer, he will never gain any more weight._

Going back a few entries, Harry read,__

_            Dear Journal,_

_It's about time Ben died. _

Harry almost dropped the book, but he managed to hold on.

            -What the hell…?-

            He read on,__

_Although I loved him as an excellent partner, and he kept money in the bank, if he'd gotten much older he would've gotten too tough and stringy to eat._

At that point, Harry did drop the book. Actually, he threw it across the room. It smacked against the wall and thudded to the floor. Shaking his head in disbelief, Harry stared at the journal as if it had just bitten him.

            -This has to be a joke…-

            A joke. Ha ha. Moving over to the book, he picked it up to read another entry,__

_            Dear Journal,_

_I had a very tiring day today. While Peter was at school, I had to drive up to the morgue and pick up Ben's body. And there was the whole matter of putting the rocks in his coffin…_

This time, Harry did not retrieve the book after he threw it aside…

            ~

            An hour later, Peter was defeated.

            The super-sized special of the day had won.

            Yes, the first thing to beat the mighty Spider-Man was a sandwich. It sat there, unscathed, save the large dent in its' monstrous side.

            "I'm stuffed…" Peter moaned.

            He thought he saw a smirk cross Aunt May's face, but it was wiped away by an 'oh you silly boy' smile.

            "Of course darling…" she cooed.

            Looking back at the giant sandwich, Peter sighed. But a question popped into his mind, a question he'd been meaning to ask.

            "Um, Aunt May…" he began awkwardly.

            "Yes dear?"

            Finally, he decided to just blurt it out. 

            "Why are you making me eat so much?"

            She shook her head, speaking in a condescending tone.

            "Oh Peter, I worry about you. You're so thin."

            "Aunt May-" He protested, but she cut him off.

            "Darling, you really should eat more."

            Tingle. 

            His spider sense raced down his spine, rattling at the base of his skull in silent warning…

            ~

            Tearing out of the bedroom, Harry pounded down the stairs. But he hadn't been in the house in a while, and he took a wrong turn. The door he thought led to the backyard deposited him in the garage. He was about to leave, when something caught his eye…

            A large freezer.

            It sat, unimposing, in one corner of the garage, unnoticeable at first. Harry advanced on it slowly, drawn to it somehow. 

            When he reached it, he paused. Then his hands flew forwards, almost with a will of their own, and tossed the lid upwards, opening it. 

            The freezer was full of items wrapped in tinfoil.

            Trembling for a reason he didn't understand, Harry grabbed one on the top of the pile.

            He knelt down, holding the thing in his lap. Cautiously, he began to undo the wrap.

            -Why am I doing this so slowly…?-

            Seeing no reason to put it off any longer, Harry tore the tinfoil all the way open.

            A hand stared back at him.

            "Oh my God…"           

            It wasn't just a hand. It was hand he'd seen a million times. A hand that had handed him cookies and tossed baseballs to him.  

            Looking at the tinfoil that had wrapped it, Harry read the label…

            BEN – HAND

            Throwing the grisly item away from his with a shrill scream, he jumped to his feet and looked back in the freezer. The labels told all…

            BEN – ARM

            BEN – FOOT

            BEN – CALF

            NORMAN – THIGH

            -Norman…?- 

            "Oh… my… God…"

            Twisting away from the horrific sight, Harry Osborn dropped to his knees and was violently ill.

            ~

            His spider sense screaming, Peter jumped to his feet.

            "Um, I gotta go…"

            Aunt May looked up, her face showing that she was more than mildly disappointed. 

            "So soon? You hardly touched your food…"

            Peter gave the King Kong Sandwich an apprehensive look. But his spider sense was like a siren… Get out of there, it howled.

            Grabbing his jacket, Peter shrugged it on quickly.

            "Sorry… maybe we could do this again… sometime…"

            Tossing some money on the table for the bill, he whirled and hurried out of the restaurant.

            Once he reached his car, he clambered inside and sat there for a moment, breathing deeply. His spider sense hadn't gone that bonkers since he was eating Thanksgiving dinner with Norman Osborn, unknowingly dining with his arch-nemesis. Come to think of it, back there in the restaurant he'd felt the same… the chilling sensation that danger was right under his nose, his potential demise lurking near…

            Shaking it off, Peter jammed into the key into the ignition, turned on the engine, and headed home.

            ~

            Staggering to his feet, Harry lurched out of the garage, back through the hall, had to put as much distance between him and that horrible freezer as possible…

            Back into the car, turning it on…

            And getting the hell out of there as fast as he could.

            ~

            Aunt May arrived home moments later. Coming in the front door, her head cocked suddenly. Listening. Suddenly, and with unnatural speed for a woman her age, she bounded up the stairs and right into her bedroom.

            Her eyes zeroed in on the journal still lying on the floor. 

            Seizing it in one wrinkled hand, she brought the lavender-bound spine of the book up to her nose.

            Sniff. Sniff.

            Her nostrils quivered.

            And then, she recognized the scent…

            ~ To Be Continued…   


	4. The Plot Thickens...

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me.

Author's Notes: Finally! Chapter four! Sorry this took so long to get out, but with FF.N being so unpredictable lately… hope my majority of readers haven't died of suspense… the plot thickens!

Beware! – The Horror Still STILL Continues

            Faster. Faster.

            Had to get away. Away from that terrible, terrible freezer and it's disgusting contents.

            Harry's car ripped up the dirt road that he was flying down, sending chunks of dirt and rocks everywhere. But he didn't care. He had to get away.

            Finally, he reached his destination. Stopping the car, he climbed out and admired the view. He had driven to a hill, a high, quiet hill outside of town. Here, he could sort out his thoughts.

            So he sat down cross-legged on the grass to think.

            ~

            Meanwhile, Peter had just pulled up at his apartment building. Out the car, up the stairs, up the stairs, up the stairs, -damn, maybe he should start taking the elevator-, finally opening the door to he and Harry's place. 

            He tossed his jacket and shoes into a corner, throwing himself down on the couch. 

            "Ohhhh…" he moaned.

            Not only did his stomach feel about three sizes larger than normal, his head was spinning. Why had his spider sense gone off like that? What could possibly be wrong with Aunt May? 

            Rolling onto his side, he flipped on the television.

            Anthony Hopkins face filled the screen and spoke the words, 

            "I'm having an old friend for dinner."

            "Nope." Peter grunted. 

            Flipping to the next channel, Peter raised his eyebrows at the sight of several scantily clad native types dancing around a fire, while an announcer solemnly intoned,

            "The Zubutu tribe once survived almost entirely by cannibalism."

            "Yuck!" Peter yelped, changing the channel again.

            An image of a covered wagon came onscreen as a voice-over droned,

            "Stranded in the mountains, the Donner party was forced to resort to cannibalism."

            "Ugh…" Peter groaned. "Not what I wanted to hear."

            Gingerly patting his aching stomach, Pete decided that if there was nothing on TV that didn't involve anything nauseating, why watch. So he flipped the off button and the set went blank.

            Peter shuddered. He hated the concept of cannibalism anyway.

            And why was his spider sense going off again?

            ~

            By now, Harry was pacing around the hilltop, holding a dramatic debate in his brain.

            Issue number one: Aunt May is a cannibal.

            "Holy shit…" he muttered to himself.

            How freaky was that? Aunt May, a woman who'd loved and been kind to him all his life was eating his father behind his back. Eeeew… 

            "Dammit! I always knew little old ladies were one big fraud!"

            Issue number two: She had apparently eaten most of Uncle Ben and was starting in on Norman Osborn.

             Now that was just wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. And disgusting too. What kind of twisted, praying mantis instinct drove her to consume her own husband.

            Harry shivered and jumped as a chill raced down his spine.

            "Great. I just gave myself a major cases of the willies."

            And the creeps. And the heebie-jeebies. And all that awful stuff.

            Issue number three: She was obviously planning on eating Peter.

            This was the tough one.

            What was he supposed to do, waltz into the penthouse and say 'Hey, Pete, how's it going? Oh, by the way, the motherly old aunt that raised you since you were four is actually a cannibal who ate your uncle and is planning on eating you. What's on TV tonight?'

            Bull shit.

            He punched at the air in frustration. Cracking an evil old lady's master plan was harder than he thought…

            ~

            He was lost in a fog. He could hear voices calling him, telling him to look out, beware…

            And suddenly, the super-sized special of the day loomed before him.

            It had eyes of onion, and a tomato tongue lolled out of a mouth ridged with pointy carrot teeth.

            "You're too thin!" it shrilled.

            In Aunt May's voice?

            ~

            "Gaaaaah!"

            Peter sat bolt upright on the couch, so quickly that he immediately tumbled to the floor. Staggering to his feet, he looked at the clock. Six-thirty. He must have asleep, and that must have been a dream…

            "Weird." He muttered.

            He was about to go into the bathroom and brush his teeth (it felt like something had crawled into his mouth and died), when he stopped dead in his tracks at a sudden sound.

            Ring ring.

            The phone?

            Filled with a terrible sense of foreboding that he did not understand, Peter nonetheless walked over and picked up the receiver.

            "Hello?"

            "Peter darling!"

            He blinked.

            "Aunt May…?"

            What was it with that woman and calling him at all hours anyway?

            "Don't worry Aunt May, I'll eat a filling dinner." He said, too tired to hear her spiel about him being a growing boy and needing his sustenance.

            A laugh. "No, Peter, I wasn't calling about that." A pause. "So, Peter, have you seen your friend Harry since we left from lunch?"

            Come to think of it…

            "No, I haven't. Why?"

            "I tell you what Peter, I'll come over."

            "Wait, it's ok-"

            Click.

            So, Aunt May was on her way over. Wonderful. 

            He scurried into the bathroom, diving for a good tube of toothpaste.

            ~

            The sun was setting by the time Harry reached the end of his rope.

            He was going home to tell Peter the truth.

            Sure, Pete would probably think he was crazy and call the police –no, the men in white coats – to take him away where he couldn't hurt anyone. But still, he had to let him know. It was for everyone's own good. 

            Now how was he going to say it?

            "Damn…"

            ~

            Knock knock.

            Peter opened the door to penthouse, feeling not the least bit of surprise to see Aunt May standing there with a few Tupperware containers.

            "Hey, Aunt May."

            What a lame rhyme.

            "Hello, Peter." She said warmly.

            "Do you want to come in?" he asked politely, gesturing to the interior of the place.

            "Oh no, I just wanted to drop these off here. And then, you and I are going back to my house for dinner!"

            Huh?

            "But Aunt May, we had lunch toge-"

            "Nonsense!" she clucked. "Don't you want a nice, home cooked meal back in the place you were raised?"

            Actually, that sounded pretty good.

            "Okay, let me grab my jacket. Oh, and I'll leave a note for Harry…"

            ~

            So when Harry came in the door half an hour later, he saw a stack of three Tupperware containers sitting innocently on the countertop.

            "Oh my God…"

            He circled them apprehensively, as if they might spring from their perch and bite him on the nose. But they appeared harmless…

            Advancing, he peered at the Post-It note stuck on the top container. In Aunt May's familiar handwriting, it read,

            Eat up Mr. Osborn!

            Harry screamed bloody murder and tore the note off, staring at it in horror. Wait a second… looking closer, it read,

            Eat up, Mr. Osborn!

            Made especially for you, Harry.

- Aunt May

Although the note clarified, Harry gave the containers a look. He had a sickening 

feeling he knew what –or, more appropriately, who- was in that 'meatloaf'. 

            -That woman has problems.-    he thought grimly.

            Ten minutes later, after the 'meatloaf' had been given a proper funeral in the park, Harry came back in the door.

            This time, however, he noticed the other note left on the counter.

            Hey Harry,

            Going over to Aunt May's to eat. Won't be home till late.

                                    Peter

            "Shit!" Harry yelped.

            Snatching up his car keys, he went barreling out the door.

            Peter had no idea what he was walking into.

            He could only hope he'd get there in time…

            ~ To Be Continued…


	5. It Reaches A Peak...

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel.

Author's Notes: Mwa ha ha! And in this chapter, you shall see my mean streak at its' peak! I'll get the next chapter out soon… *whistles innocently* Meanwhile, everything comes together, all the loose ends swinging in close proximity, until they ultimately collide! Chapter five!

Beware! – The Horror Reaches Its' Peak…

            It smelled delicious.

            Peter sat back in his chair, feeling very tired, but enjoying the familiar scent of Aunt May's fabulous home cooking. Nothing could soothe one's nerves like that pleasant aroma of food wafting from the kitchen you'd grown up in…

            It was downright intoxicating.

            And he let his head tip back, relaxing, nodding…

            Almost asleep…

            ~

            Harry parked his car down the road.

            He saw little reason to park it next to the house, seeing if he did that Peter would surely recognize the car and bring attention to it, thereby alerting Aunt May to his presence. And since she obviously knew he knew her dirty little secret…

            That was a situation best avoided.

            Turning off the ignition, Harry slid out of the car, slamming the door behind him. 

            And cringing with a grimace. 

            What kind of idiot slams his car door when on a stealth mission?

            Shaking it off and hoping neither Aunt May nor Peter noticed, he crept towards the little house.

            It was quiet.

            Too quiet.

            Carefully maneuvering through the bushes surrounding the residence, Harry peeked through a window.

            He saw Peter, nearly dozing in his chair…

            And was instantly reminded of every old horror movie he'd ever seen. The unsuspecting hero, lured into a false sense of security by the evil, yet harmless-seeming villain…

            Scrambling around through the shrubbery, (and getting poked mercilessly by the thorns), Harry moved around to the back of the house, looking in the kitchen window.

            There the monster lurked.

            Aunt May, looking as innocent and old-lady-like as he'd expected. 

            Well, she wasn't fooling Harry Osborn.

            And what was she cooking?

            He didn't want to know. 

            Scurrying back to the front, (dang rose bushes!), Harry tried tapping gently on the window. Maybe if he woke Peter, he'd have time to escape.

            Tap. Tap.

            But with that quiet noise, Aunt May's head snapped up from her cooking, glaring directly at the window Harry was spying through.

            With a yelp of dismay, Harry threw himself onto the ground.

            ~

            Peter snapped awake suddenly. 

            "Huh? Wha…?"

            Twisting around, Peter peered out the window behind him. He could've sworn he'd heard someone tapping on it…

            But there was no one.

            Instead, there was a distinct pulse of anxiety oozing from the area of the windowsill…

            "Would you like a drink, Peter darling?"

            Aunt May's voice came from the kitchen.

            "Sure, Aunt May."

            ~

            He had to act.

            Harry was watching through the kitchen window as Aunt May prepared two small glasses of lemonade. No ice. Leaving the drinks for a moment, she went to a cupboard and retrieved a small, unmarked bottle.

            She tipped its' putrid-looking contents into one of the drinks.

            "Lights out, Peter deary…" she crooned. 

            -Poison!- Harry's mind screamed.

            He gazed in helpless horror as Aunt May walked back into the dining room, setting the tainted drink before Peter…

            Racing back to the front of the house, Harry thought quickly.

            ~

            Ding dong.

            Peter started from his seat at the sound of the doorbell.

            "I'll get it, Aunt May!"

            "No really Peter, I can manage…"

            As predicted, both went for the front door.

            Neither noticed the window being yanked open, admitting a young Osborn tumbling into the room and hurriedly diving under the table.

            "No one there…" Peter was musing.

            Popping up from beneath the tablecloth, Harry quickly switched the drinks. 

            "Oh well." Aunt May said, suspicion thick in her voice.

            The two walked back into the dining room, noticing nothing out of the ordinary.

            Harry tensed, hardly daring to breathe, thinking that perhaps his plan had worked, until Aunt May spoke,

            "Oh! Peter darling! It seems I have the more full glass of lemonade! Please, take this one…"

            "No, Aunt May, that's alright…" 

            "I insist!"

            And the glasses switched.

            Harry slapped his forehead.

            "Now, you just drink up! I need to attend to the ham…"

            ~

            Peter watched Aunt May bustle off into the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. He then turned his attention to the lemonade.

            His spider sense tingled.

            -Why should I have the more lemonade?- he reasoned. –After all, Aunt May is the one having me over for dinner…-

            Deciding not to be greedy, Peter made to switch the glasses. 

            But in his haste, a bit spilled from his glass. Setting it down next to Aunt May's, Peter quickly cleaned up the little mess. No harm done.

            Glancing back at the two glasses of lemonade, Peter realized he could no longer tell them apart.

            Shrugging, he selected one and placed it before him, opting to wait for Aunt May before drinking.

            ~

            Harry sat under the table, tense as a bowstring ready to fly at a moment's notice. He was unaware of the fact that Peter had mixed up the glasses further. As far as he knew, the poison had been switched back to Peter.

            -Think, Harry!-

            Yanking a handful of change from his pocket, he tossed it clumsily into the hall.

            And as Peter went over to investigate, Harry darted out from under the tablecloth, seized the glasses, and reversed their positions.

            Peter wandered back into the dining room, looking confused.

            "That's funny…" he muttered, before sitting back in his chair.

            Aunt May came in, and her eyes immediately went to the lemonade. A tense moment.

            "Peter, honey, why don't you go get some music… the CD's are just around the corner..."

            Wearily, Peter got back to his feet.

            "Okay, okay…"

            As soon as he left the room, Aunt May deftly switched the glasses. She paused, for a moment, watching the drinks settle. Turning back to go into the kitchen…

            A noise.

            Whirling around, she saw the lemonade sloshing around. Switched.

            ~

            Trembling, Harry crouched under the table, musing that he'd probably pushed his luck too far. Cocking his head, he heard Aunt May walking towards the table.

            The glasses switched.

            And then they switched again.

            Listening in horror, Harry realized Aunt May was shuffling the glasses.

            And then she left.

            So began the biggest mental battle in Harry's life.

            If Peter had the poison and he switched it, Pete would be saved.

            If Aunt May had the poison and he switched, Pete would be killed.

            But if he didn't switch it and Pete had the poison, he'd die anyway.

            Peter was coming back…

            Springing from the under the table, Harry switched the glasses.

            No turning back now.

            And even as he tried to calm his racing heart, he heard Peter switching the glasses back…

            ~

            Aunt May came striding back into the room, all smiles.

            "Peter, dear, you haven't touched your lemonade!" she admonished.

            "I was waiting for you, Aunt May."

            The elderly woman smiled.

            "Well, a toast then."

            Both raised their glasses.

            "To… us." Aunt May said with a sneaky grin.

            And both downed their glasses, drinking every…

            Last…

            Drop.

            "Good lemonade." Peter noticed.

            Under the table, Harry cringed. He'd drunk it. And if it had been the tainted one…

            "Now, let's sit." Aunt May suggested.

            Harry barely managed to squeak out an 'oops' before two sets of feet came right at his head…

            ~

            "Whoa! What's that?" Peter cried.

            Leaping from his seat, he yanked up the tablecloth to reveal…

            "Harry?!?"

            The young Osborn dashed out from under the table, standing in front of Peter and screaming at Aunt May,

            "You'll never get him! Not while I'm here!"

            "Harry!" Peter yelled, flinging his roommate around to face him. "What're you saying?"

            "She's a cannibal, Pete! I know it sounds crazy, but she ate your uncle and-"

            He was silenced by a smack across the face that sent him tumbling.

            "Shut up!" Peter roared.

            Standing over his cowering friend, Peter Parker had never looked angrier.

            "You will NEVER talk like that about my aunt!" he seethed, clenched fists trembling with pent-up rage.

            "But Peter…" Harry whimpered.

            "NEVER!" Peter screamed, hardly able to believe the fact that Harry Osborn would dare to insult this wonderful woman.

            "He's right, Peter."

            Spinning around, Peter saw Aunt May standing there, smiling. She looked the same, same crinkled old smile, twinkling eyes…

            Except for the fact she was holding a meat cleaver.

~ To Be Continued…

Author's Notes: Mwa ha ha… gotcha! 


	6. And It All Comes Crashing Down...

Disclaimer: I own none of the Marvel characters. Some of the quotes aren't mine either…

Author's Notes: FINALLY! I literally finished hooking my computer to Internet two minutes ago, and this is the first thing I am attending to. CHAPTER SIX! Some people pointed out that the lemonade switching was like 'Princess Bride'. I've never seen that movie, so I'm not ripping it off! But enough about that… on to the show! Brace yourselves, everyone… 

Beware! – And It All Comes Crashing Down

            "Aunt May?"

            Peter stared incredulously at the meat cleaver, hardly believing the fact that this motherly old woman was coming at him with a weapon in her hand.

            "Noooooooo!" Harry yowled.

            The young Osborn scooted away from her, pressing his back against the wall. 

            -So this is the end.- He thought grimly. –Chopped to pieces by a psycho little old lady with a meat cleaver. What a way to go.-

            And yet Aunt May still advanced, smiling blissfully.

            But then, Peter began to smile too. This had to be a joke. One big, funny joke concocted by Aunt May and Harry to lighten his mood. A funny, innocent joke to ease the stress of the past weeks.

            He laughed.

            And Aunt May laughed, too.

            Harry looked slowly up at Peter in horror.

            "What the hell's wrong with you, man?" he hissed. "You going crazy?"

            "Very funny, guys." Peter said at last.

            "What are you talking about?" Harry practically shrieked. "We're doomed!"

            "This is all a joke, right?"

            There was an uncomfortable silence, the three of them remaining in the bizarre tableau, Harry on the floor, flattened against the wall, Peter standing with a fading smile on his face, and Aunt May still holding that meat cleaver.

            "Who ever said it was a joke, Peter dear?"

            The old woman's question hung suspended on the air, piercing the quiet that was broken only by Harry's breathing, rapidly escalating into hyperventilation.

            Peter swayed slightly on his feet, as the smile now completely vanished.

            "I mean, what else could it be? Right? A joke…"

            His voice drifted away as he looked at the terrifying grin on Aunt May's face. She still stared at him, her gaze a bit vacant and very unnerving.

            "This isn't a joke man…" Harry whimpered.

            "Aw, c'mon Harry." Peter snapped, getting sick of this game. "Knock it off."

            Jumping to his feet, Harry ran over to his roommate and grabbed him by the shoulders.

            "This! Isn't! A! Joke!" he wailed.

            Peter stared at him, wide-eyed.

            "What are you talking about?"

            Harry groaned in exasperation.

            "This is for real, Peter! SHE IS GOING TO EAT US!"

            "Shut up, Harry…"

            But the man who saved lives and fought super-villains sounded frighteningly unsure. What was happening?

            Shaking Peter's shoulders with every word, Harry howled in terror.

            "YOUR UNCLE IS IN THE FREEZER!!!"

            Peter's face lit up.

            "Uncle Ben!"

            Harry let out a scream of frustration.

            "You moron! Not alive! IN PIECES!"

            Now Peter was very confused.

            "Uncle Ben… in the freezer… in… pieces?"

            Harry nodded rapidly, glancing with apprehension towards Aunt May. She still stood in the doorway, watching with a now amused smile on her face.

            "But, why?" Peter asked.

            "SHE! IS! A! CANNIBAL!" 

            The young Osborn was now at the end of his rope. Here he was, confronted by a maniac with a meat cleaver, and Peter just didn't get it.

            Seeing a golden window of opportunity, Harry took off at a mad sprint into the living room, calling over his shoulder, 

            "You'll never take me alive!"

            "But, my dear," Aunt May said brightly. "That's the whole point!"

            Harry Osborn's high-pitched squeal would have waked the dead.

            ~

            Skittering into the neat and tidy little living room, Harry dove behind the couch. Maybe she wouldn't find him back here…

            -Please don't find me, please don't find me, please don't…-

            The meat cleaver embedded itself in the wall less than an inch from his head.

            "Heeeeeeeeeeeeeere's Auntie!"

            "EEEEEEEEEEYOW!"

            Harry couldn't have come out of that hiding place faster if he'd been electrocuted in the rear end.

            Scrambling for footing, he ran back into the kitchen, snagging the shocked Peter by the arm and towing him along.

            "C'mon, Pete, we gotta get out of here…"

            But Aunt May stood blocking the doorway, carefully cleaning the plaster off her weapon. 

            "Too bad, too bad…" she cooed. "My aim seems to be getting a little off…"

            Backing into a corner, Harry had only one thought on his mind.

            "We are gonna die."

            ~

            Peter heard everything, saw everything happening, but he just didn't feel a part of it. It was as if he was watching a play –or, more accurately, a cheesy old horror movie- and he was merely a spectator.

            "This can't be happening…" he mumbled.

            "Oh, believe me, Peter, it is." 

            Aunt May's voice was cold and sinister.

            And with one swift movement, too swift to be natural, she seized the handle of her cutlery drawer and yanked it out.

            The sharp and pointy objects hurtled mercilessly towards Harry…

            The young Osborn screamed at the top of his lungs…

            As they neatly pinned him to the wall by his shirt: sleeves, shoulders, and collar.

            Peter stared in awe.      

            "Oh God…" Harry moaned. "I think I just peed my pants…"

            Aunt May advanced towards him, smiling innocently and looking as gentle as a lamb.

            "Now, Harry, why are you raising such a fuss?"

            Swallowing his fear, Harry tried to sound as brave as he could.

            "You ate my father!"

            Aunt May's face became deathly serious.

            "No, Harry. I AM your father!"

            "NOOOOOOOO- Wait, what?"

            "Stupid boy." Aunt May sneered. "You'll make a nice batch of appetizers."

            Peter would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so dire. 

            "Aunt May," he said, voice quavering. "Why are you doing this?"

            She gave him a condescending look and explained,

            "Why, darling, I'm hungry! And tough old men don't make the best meals."

            "Don't talk about my father like that!" Harry sniffled.

            "Besides," Aunt May continued. "It's the whole reason I raised you."

            Peter stood frozen as he digested this information.

            "But… you took me in… my parents were killed in that plane crash…"

            Aunt May's horrible, cackling laughter broke him off.

            "Ah yes!" she chortled. "A plane crash! I did say that, didn't I?"

            The world froze.

            "Aunt May…" Peter said slowly. "What are you talking about…?"

            She shook her head, walking casually towards him.

            "Peter, your parents didn't die in a plane crash."

            An awkward pause. And then, Aunt May slowly and meaningfully licked her lips.

            "You killed my mother."

            Peter said the words even as they occurred to him, the horror spreading across his face.

            "Mm-hmm." 

            "You killed my father."

            "Yep!"

            The reality sunk in.

            "You ATE my father!"

            Aunt May nodded solemnly, and then her face twisted into a malicious grin.

            "I had his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti."

            "Oh… my… GOD!!!"

            And Harry Osborn fainted dead away, suspended on his feet only by the knives embedded in his clothing.

            Peter shook his head, tried to clear it. This had to be a dream. A nightmare. He'd been having a lot of those lately… a nightmare, that's it…

            "Okay, Pete…" he hissed to himself. "You can wake up now…"

            "Actually," Aunt May mused, looking at her watch. "I'd say it's about time for lights out."

            He began to feel dizzy, leaning back against the wall for support. 

            "What do you mean?"

            "Your lemonade, Peter darling, was poisoned. And once it takes effect, I will chop you up for breakfast."

            Harry opened his eyes slowly, looking up in time to see Peter swaying, about to fall over.

            Pete must have gotten the poison…

            "No!"

            Suddenly, Aunt May clutched at her heart and dropped instantly to the floor.

            Raising her head slowly, she looked at Peter.

            "Too bad…" she whispered. "So tender…"

            Then her head clonked like a stone to the floor.

            Dead as a doornail.

            And the house was silent, dead silent, as two college boys stared at the body of the craziest little old lady to ever stalk the surface of the earth.

            "Oh my God…" Harry muttered. "I am gonna need so much therapy…"

            ~ Stay tuned for Epilogue… 


	7. Epilogue

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel.

Author's Notes: Here it is. The epilogue. I'm sad to see it end… *sniffle* But it's been fun! Thanks for getting me up to this many reviews! I love my readers! *hugs all around*   

Beware! – Epilogue

            It was a bright day. A clear day. As fine a day as anyone could wish for. The birds were singing, and the trees were a beautiful green.

            Nature could have such an ironic sense of humor.

            Peter Parker stood in the cemetery for the third time inside a year. Once it had been for the killing of Uncle Ben. And then, the death of Norman Osborn. Now… Aunt May.

            Although she had chased him around the house with a meat cleaver, eaten his beloved uncle, eaten his friend's father, killed his parents, and tried to kill his best friend, Peter had still loved the old woman.

            Actually, looking back at the long list, it was turning into more of a love/hate relationship…

            Harry stood beside his friend, trying to be sympathetic. But it was hard to summon up the sympathy when you were rejoicing over the passing of the deceased. Aunt May had deserved to die, in his opinion. His therapy bill was still racking up…

            The solemn words of the preacher drifted around them, unheard. Harry was staring fixedly at the coffin, as if Aunt May herself would spring out and sink her fangs into his neck. And Peter simply stared ahead.

            They were about to lower the coffin into the ground when Peter spoke.

            "Wait."

            They paused.

            "I… I'd like to see her… one last time…?"

            He gestured to the lid of the coffin. The preacher smiled condescendingly.

            "Of course, my child."

            Obediently, the two men opened the coffin…

            Harry staggered backwards, an inhuman shriek ripping from his lips. He began to stomp around the graveyard howling and cursing.

            The workmen exchanged confused looks.

            The preacher's mouth popped open.

            Peter just stood there, a 'this can't be happening' smile on his face as he stared at the contents of the coffin.

            ROCKS.

            ~

            Somewhere on an interstate several hundred miles away, Aunt May turned up the oldies station on her car stereo. Her stomach rumbled. Perhaps she would pull over for lunch soon…

            She patted the cooler beside her, its' label reading 'BEN/NORMAN - ON THE GO'. 

            Of course the drink hadn't been poisoned. She preferred to kill her prey personally, if at all possible. The heavy drug had induced a death-like state… with no ill effects after she woke up.

            There would be others to prey on. There always were. Perhaps she could get a job as a nanny… or a foster grandmother…

            After all, who wouldn't trust a little old lady?

            ~

            THE END

            ~

            And now the choice is yours, dear readers.

            Motherly old lady?

            Or psychotic cannibal?

            You decide.

            Do YOU support the Aunt May Conspiracy?


End file.
